It’s too late to celebrate the decriminalisation of the afro

To prevent us from wearing our hair in a culturally appropriate way is to stop us from being who we are

Black and Brown people have been fighting for hair equality in schools and the workplace for decades, but are only just being heard now. Yesterday, the equalities watchdog said school policies that ban certain hairstyles without making exceptions on racial grounds “are likely to be unlawful”.

Jackie Killeen, chief regulator at the Equality and Human Rights Commission (EHRC), said: “Every child deserves to be celebrated for who they are and to thrive in school without having to worry about changing their appearance to suit a potentially discriminatory policy.”

The watchdog guidance matters, it’s just far too late. That expression “better late than never” is one that excuses tardiness despite the harm it may cause.

I would know. As a child, I was mainly surrounded by white people; peers, teachers and most other authority figures. I grew up middle-class and Catholic – the same as most people around me. The main difference was that my family was one of very few who were Black. We were the same, and yet totally different, which was reflected in the rules we had to adhere to.

My parents instilled a Nigerian Igbo pride in my siblings and I that was, and continues to be, unshakeable. But the reality is that in the UK one must “conform or be punished”.

Throughout history, Black and Brown people have used hair as an identifier. It’s more than style – it’s who we are from the cornrow pattern, to the locs, the low cut, the fade, the hairline, the fro, the baby hairs and so much more.

We should celebrate differences while we promote equality, and acknowledge that hair, for all people, is a form of self-expression. And not all hair is the same.

In recent years, many Black people, and specifically Black women, are choosing to do a “Big Chop” or to “Transition”; movements which are a reclamation of our natural hair. Having little representation as well as the fear of punishment for carrying our afros, locs, braids and headscarves meant that many of us growing up in the 90s and 00s, and long before, experienced a wealth of overt and covert discrimination. The rules told us that we, in our natural forms, did not belong.

If Black people are given the same rules as white children when it comes to their hair, they will never win. Meanwhile, many white people continue to culturally appropriate our hairstyles, the same ones we are judged and punished for, from Kim Kardashian renaming cornrows “boxer braids” and modelling Fulani braids like it’s a new hairstyle, to Zac Efron sharing a picture of himself with dreads and captioning it “just for fun”.

Instead, for us to have “easy”, “manageable” or “neat” hair, many of us would have our hair relaxed – a term that’s already problematic as it implies our natural hair is unrelaxed, stressed, restless – a form of chemical straightening which, more often than not, results in scalp burns and hair breakage, but which makes our hair appear “acceptable”.

I remember sitting in class time and time again in pain from where the back of my head had been burned, concerned that the scab would be visible, itchy from the dryness and discomfort. All the while trying to focus, learn and enjoy my education.

When I was at uni, a friend of some friends attempted to make fun of me saying that my hair would never be as long as hers because I’m Black. It was ridiculous, and though it was always clear to me that she was racist, the statement irked me.

It irked me because though I was proud of my crown, I was used to operating in a world that forced me to hide it, and by that point it seemed like a momentous task to let it thrive freely. Still, I am a proud Nigerian Igbo British woman, so I vowed to never use relaxer again. I grew my hair and did the big chop after over 20 years of “relaxed” hair.

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Years later, I wear my hair in its full, unstraightened, natural state. I accessorise with head scarves and/or gold cuffs. I no longer consider my environment when choosing locs, braids or fro form. I wear my hair proudly.

Neither of my sisters, my mum nor I have relaxed our hair for many years, but it took over two decades for us to get to this point. A point where there are a few products on the high street that cater to our hair. A point where it’s becoming the norm to speak out about racism and inequality. A point where, finally, we can see change for future generations in one of the most important environments: schools.

To prevent us from wearing our hair in a culturally appropriate way is to stop us from being who we are. We’ve been saying it, and it’s finally being heard.

The watchdog guidance is important. I just wish it had come sooner.